


Only A Few Precious Stones

by nagia



Category: Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997)
Genre: Arranged Marriage, F/M, Possibly Excessive Amounts Of Worldbuilding, Slow Burn, Vincent Valentine As Wutaian, Weird Gender Politics, Wutai (Compilation of FFVII), political maneuvering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-26 17:34:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23606233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagia/pseuds/nagia
Summary: Wutai isn'texactlythe unified front Shinra thinks it fought in the War, and never has been.  An old enemy of the Kisaragi family resurfaces in the wake of Crisis, with their delusions of grandeur set on one thing: the very throne Yuffie expected to occupy in a few years.Calling her dangerously unamused might be understating the case.
Relationships: Tifa Lockhart/Cloud Strife, Yuffie Kisaragi & Vincent Valentine, Yuffie Kisaragi/Vincent Valentine
Comments: 19
Kudos: 34





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a rewrite of a very, very old fic that I beg you not to try to find. There's a lot of worldbuilding here and I'm not sorry for any of it. 
> 
> Thanks as always to Leviathanmirror and Cheloya. This fandom is how we met fifteen years ago and I'm so glad I still know them both. ♥

_84th year of the Risen Tiger, summer_

The streets of Lanfa Thanh in South Wutai were dustier than those of Da Chao, further to the north. The Revered Mother had never walked there, nor the Water-God blessed it with His thousand currents. Instead, the people of the waters had hewn it from the sand and the stone, pushed the desert back centuries upon centuries ago and built towers that spired and streets that wound, twisting, to confuse what spirits remained of Gaea's oldest children.

Wen Fa-tsen moved carefully through the streets. His steps were nearly silent, despite the heavy wooden shoes. His elder cousins — all children of lesser aunts and uncles — had returned from Da Chao only last summer wearing them. They reminded him a little too much of the pot-bottom shoes his grandmother had worn until she'd stopped making public appearances, but they had been a gift from Wen Mao-li, and Fa-tsen was nothing if not dutiful.

Also, Mao-li was his favorite uncle, youngest brother of Fa-tsen's father, and thus closest in age to Fa-tsen himself, closer even than the cousins.

The dusk fell low in the west, painting the brown-gold street in streaks of orange and red, flickering like fire, and along the sides of the street, little old men and a few old women sat at low tables with cups of hot tea laid in front of them. The fitful breeze carried the combined scents of matcha and mint to him, and every so often, people he recognized would greet him silently. A few bowed low despite their seated positions — one man, sitting _agura_, went so low that his head touched his crossed ankles — while others simply offered deep nods.

The part of him that paid close attention to his favorite uncle's lessons marked who paid proper respects and who felt they could be casual with the only son of Wen Li-hei, Crown Prince of South Wutai.

That part should have been paying closer attention to the people walking behind him, if he hadn't wanted to become a cautionary tale.

He didn't see the threat until the dark fabric dropped down over his face, and went tight. He jerked, twisting, straining, throwing an elbow back in hope of catching the person holding onto him. But he struck empty air.

And then there was no air at all, and fire in his lungs, and the more he struggled the more the black and gold spots danced before his eyes.

After that, there was nothing.

It is an event that shaped the Shinra-Wutai war, even if nobody quite remembers how.


	2. The Living Or The Dead

A dozen tiny bodies step forward as one, arms snapping out to punch the air with clenched fists, all yelling with one voice. They turn, step in another direction, and lash out with a kick that she doesn't tell them would be worse than useless in real combat. They shout again, then shuffle backwards — still moving in near-perfect unison, though one or two move at a slightly slower or faster pace than the rest — in a stylized retreat.

Yuffie grins at them. "Good strikes, all of you. That air didn't know what hit it. Or kicked it, Inoue! Nice work with that hip pivot. And don't think I didn't see way you threw your whole weight into that punch, Fujita. That's what I'm talking about!"

One of the younger girls flushes red to her hair. She ducks her head and offers the kind of automatic bow that still annoys Yuffie. But given her new role, she doesn't exactly have the power to say anything about it anymore. Which is just weird, really; one of those damnable Wutaian logic traps that she's starting to figure she'll have to change once she ascends the throne. Add it to the list; it's only like nine miles long right now.

"But what have I been yelling at you about for, like, the last week?"

As one, the class groans, and somebody mumbles, "Footwork," just barely loudly enough for her to hear it.

She grins again. It's so nice when they listen. Sure, they watch all the time, especially when she really wishes they wouldn't, but listening? That one's rarer and she's always grateful to catch any sign of it. Which is starting to make her sympathize with Chekhov and Staniv, and that's just plain too what-the-fuck to handle right now.

"Right, guys, footwork. You've gotten a lot better on the forward, but I wanna see you work on those retreats. You're shuffling on me and we can't have that. We don't do sloppy in this dojo, do we?"

"No, sensei!" The dozen voices all chorus it at once. They sound more tired and possibly bored than anything else.

Yuffie clenches one fist, concentrating. She raises a hand and a gout of flame — carefully called, whip-thin and not _quite_ long enough to reach anybody's bare toes; she's out to startle them, not actually set anybody on fire today — causes the entire front row to jump back. The back row, not prepared for their fellow students' complete and total and hilarious panic, doesn't move in time, and no fewer than half a dozen students end up tangled together on the floor, on their backs, staring wide-eyed at where the fire was a second ago.

Looks like they'll be working on this a while. And maybe going back to basics. She bites the inside of her cheek until she has to work not to wince. It's hard to find a long-suffering voice when she mostly just wants to laugh at the expressions on their little faces, but she goes looking anyway.

"Do I gotta teach you guys how to fall again? Because _seriously_, guys. Seriously. You're killing me here."

The kids disentangle themselves, still wide-eyed. One of them's got a huge pair of ears on him, and with those earlobes combined with how big his eyes naturally are, he looks like some sort of weird Gongagan water jug that belongs in a museum.

She raises her casting hand again, though this time without concentrating on the Fire materia in her armlet. She lifts her gaze to the rafters for a second, watching the shadows, then yells, "What don't we do in this dojo?"

"We don't do sloppy, sensei!" This time, it's a high-pitched, full-throated scream, and Yuffie grins at them.

"Damn skippy," she says, borrowing the phrase from either Cid or Cloud, she's not sure which, and says, "Alright, we'll work on the retreats one-on-three, and I'm not going to stop drilling you until either I'm happy or your parents say I have to give you back. Matsuda, Fujita, Ishikawa: you're up first."

The three worst students step forward. One of them actually winces.

"No noogies for failure this time," she tells them, seriously. "This shit is hard. I've seen grown men who can't do this." Admittedly, they were hired by Shinra and she killed them, but that's not exactly the kind of story she tells to children. "So you're ahead of the curve, right?"

They eyeball her with a dubiousness she totally doesn't deserve.

* * *

Later, once she's wiped down the practice mats and walked the tatami, carefully checking for damage, Yuffie sighs and says, "Just come out with it, old man."

"Your loving respect and filial speech warm my aging heart, as always." He answers her in wutaian rather than midgarian standard.

Irked, Yuffie replies, not bothering to make the same switch, "Yuh-huh. You're a better ninja than that. You wanted me to know you were there. What gives?"

"There is news of the south." He says it with extra formality, dipping into some archaic version of wutaian that she only understands because she had to learn to read poetry in it when she was nine. Really, he says it like she's supposed to pull some sort of ominous meaning out of it.

She rolls her eyes. "There's news of everywhere. It happens. What's with the doomchant up there? Are they declaring war again, with, like, no army and no navy and also not much else there besides rocks, more rocks, and a crapton of sand?"

Her father turns the kind of silent that he generally leaves for when he thinks she's really stepped in it. As they pretty much never agree on whether she has or hasn't, Yuffie feels free to ignore it.

"Didn't we laugh in their faces the last time they tried to be all like 'the House of the Kisaragi must fall and the House of Wen must arise, for we are the true children of the wave' like the weirdo religious nutcases they've been since actual forever? I'm kinda weirded that you're worrying about this, like, at all."

He'd threatened to crush South Wutai under his shoe the last time they tried to put his nose out of joint. It hadn't been long after the War and nobody in Wutai had been long on patience. Particularly nobody in the Imperial City, and that had gone double for the Kisaragi. An heir dead, the Empress dead, the city only just _barely_ not in flames —

Not great times. They'd been in a mood to kick somebody's teeth in, and the House of Wen had practically volunteered.

His disapproving silence intensifies. If her father weren't still in the rafters, she might actually look at his face, just to see if he's doing the thing with the eyebrows yet. If she works hard enough, she just might be able to poke him into telling her whatever the hell is going on before she dies of old age.

Yuffie opens her mouth to start another sentence guaranteed to give her father at least half a heart attack, and he cuts her off.

"There has been an offer."

It's the kind of tone that suggests that absolutely nothing good is about to happen. It's the 'so, good news: you're not dead; bad news: I never want to see you in this Palace unless I send for you' tone. She knows because of her learnings. Her learnings which have mostly been by experience and have also involved a fuck of a lot of yelling and even more traveling the world avoiding her homeland.

"Oh, for gawd's sake," Yuffie says, and drops the floor to sit cross-legged. "Lay it on me, Dad."

"Lord Mao-li of the House of Wen has offered for your hand in marriage."

Yuffie sighs, narrowing her eyes and staring up into the darkness where her father crouches. "Just so you know, this is the weirdest possible way to have this conversation. I'd say you're straining my neck, but you'd never believe me." 

Or he'd recite some half-incomprehensible proverb that basically meant 'you're young, suck it the fuck up while you still can, you young whippersnapper, you.'

Her father ignores this. "You don't seem very alarmed."

"Why should I be? I don't have any brothers, so things are gonna get hilarious. Did he tell you her name?"

"That's the problem," her father says. "He's offering his oldest son."

"Are you _kidding_ me? This is a shitty joke, you old jackass. They're supposed to be funny, remember? I thought we went over this, like, last year!"

"No joke," her father says, voice wry.

And that's about the time Yuffie starts _really_ swearing.

* * *

Just in case they have nothing else — which, nope, see point A: religious whackadoodles who've been kupo-nuts pretty much from the start — the Wen always bring audacity to the table. Yuffie's spent years bluffing her way into bad situations and out of worse ones with little more than a smile, a stick of gum, and a pocketful of materia. She could understand if that was what then Wen family audacity was.

But it's not. It's just that they straight up think a house whose _mon_ was first painted onto silk banners a measly three hundred years ago deserves to be at the head of Wutai, because something something aspect of Ashura in a tiger's mouth, something something rains of fish in the desert.

They also bring perfumed rice paper to the table, and some of the most beautiful calligraphy she's seen in seven years, because Wen Mao-li doesn't know how not to be _extra_. Which is, like, enough to get her seriously aggro if she lets herself think about it.

"It smells like jewel plums," she says, wrinkling her nose.

Her father, annoyed, says, "That's what you notice?"

"What do you want from me, old man?"

"Caution," her father replies. "A sign that you understand, at all, what's happening. In short, it'd be nice if you acted like the Crown Prince you demanded I name you."

"Gotta love how you act like I mugged you for the title. You made it pretty clear you coughed that one up because _you_ wanted to, not because you actually thought I deserved it or anything."

"It was a political expedience." Godo snaps the words out, clicking his teeth on 'expedience' like he's actually considering biting her. "And it's no longer expedient, seeing as —" And then he just waves his hand in the direction of the letter, anger and disappointment having knocked the rest of the words out of his head.

Business as usual in Kisaragi House.

So Yuffie reads the letter again. She can't actually handle the whole thing in one go, not without seething, so instead she skims her eyes over the small, digestible, important chunks.

_In the wake of the rising sea and the star that did not fall, the people of the wave are once more called to unity. Shall we not carry out the will of the gods, and unite South and North, who have so long and so regrettably been parted?_

Pretty words. Prettier handwriting. Yuffie narrows her eyes and focuses on not setting the letter on fire with her brain.

_To this effect I propose a marriage of your daughter to my eldest son. Much have the Kisaragi sacrificed; much will they gain._

It's so pretty it's almost not insulting.

But, and here's the thing: she's Crown Prince. If she's going to rule Wutai — and she's going to — then she has to carry male titles. From the moment she was named her father's heir, she stopped being his daughter. Legally speaking, she's his son.

It's pretty much one of the only laws Yuffie can see herself really bothering with, and here's Wen Mao-li, completely ignoring it because it suits him. Like his clan hasn't used the same goddamn trick a time or twelve. Like basically writing a pretty letter about how he sees through the legal fiction, ha ha, why don't you just give up and become a vassal nation, ha ha, isn't exactly the kind of veiled threat North Wutai had nearly crushed him for, like, nine years ago.

But then, because Wen Mao-li _genuinely does not know how not to be extra_, there's the blackmail. She is seriously going to teach this petty pretend king the meaning of subtlety and nuance, and she's going to do it very carefully, very calmly, and with a very nuanced foot to his stupid petty pretend king face.

_It is the dearest hope of your brethren in the south that this missive find you in good spirit. Much though the Kisaragi have sacrificed, they have not done so alone: there is the matter of Wen Fa-tsen, and the concealment of his whereabouts by the Imperial House and the Lord of Wutai's revered father. Lest our words cause any undue disharmony, enclosed is proof._

Proof her father won't accept, of course, because it would cast aspersions on the character of a prior Emperor, and Kisaragi Godo won't be having with that.

She knows what comes next. Yuffie is about to _not_ be the Crown Prince of Wutai. She can practically hear the gears turning in her father's head as he does the same math she does. Which is more politically expedient? Which preserves _his_ pride? Which saves his dear old, long-dead dad's name?

She's got this funny feeling that the answer isn't going to be, 'Send a grimly-worded letter suggesting that Godo will personally crush Wen Mao-li's bones into powder underneath his shoes, typed with a new-fangled typewriter, on unscented stationary.'

"You're gonna make me give up the title," she says, and grinds her teeth. "You know, I can think of a real easy way to avoid this." She might as well say it. "I've got an open offer from Reeve, you know. Head of Intelligence for his new project. Gets me out of the country until the Wen family gives up on this harebrained crap."

Getting acknowledged as the Crown Prince of Wutai by the outside world might not change much about the political situation in South Wutai. But it could firm her position in Wutai proper and unseat the Wen family if they tried to come north and pull anything annoying.

Her father glares. "A government is not a 'project.'"

"That's your problem?" Of course he'd pick that out. It's so typical of him she could laugh, if she didn't want to punch him in the head a few times.

"And I won't have you abandoning Wutai now, of all times. It shows weakness we can't afford."

At that, she snaps, "What happened to me staying out of the palace unless you sent for me and out of the Imperial City if I didn't ask permission first?"

But it's not like she doesn't know the answer. He doesn't even dignify it with a response, just waves one hand in an abrupt, frustrated gesture like he can shove the question away.

"Running from this will just make it worse." Godo eyes her, and his eyes narrow, even as his mouth draws into a thin line that his ridiculous mustache almost hides. "Whether either of us likes it or not, you need to be _here_ now. Helping anyone else will make Wutai question why you aren't helping your home — playing right into the Wen's hands."

The worst part is he's probably right. She hasn't been terrible at politics so far, but she's a lot better with just plain people, rather than trying to figure out what whole countries will think. Reading a small group long enough to con them and yoink their stuff? Her bread and butter. Figuring out what plays well in the newspapers? That one's harder. Her father, on the other hand —

"No," Godo says, suddenly decisive. "You're AVALANCHE, one of the heroes of the Crisis. Most of the world knows your name. We use that. It would be poor repayment for saving our country if I forced my only child into any union that displeased them."

Yuffie, used to listening for the little shit, notices it immediately. "Okay, so far so good, but I'm still not seeing a way out of this. Unless you actually looked at whatever evidence the Wen sent and, you know, apologized."

That earns her like her fifteenth glare for the evening and a furious huff of breath. "I'm not apologizing for something my father didn't do. Perhaps you'll understand, in ten or so years."

"Nope! My coronation speech is gonna be, 'Sorry my Dad sucked, but I totally don't.'"

"Useless child," he snaps, spitting the words.

Yuffie opens her mouth, and then realizes she doesn't even have to say it. They both know what's coming. She says it anyway. "Yep, that's me. The most useless. All I ever did for you was bring an ass-ton of Materia home, destroy Shinra, and save the world. Which makes you… what kind of father, exactly?"

Godo turns away.

"I mean, really. Talk about unreasonable. Like, you have waltzed on past unreasonable straight into terrible. The worst." Her voice comes out lighter than she intends, but he flinches anyway. Good. Serves him right for that.

"If I don't reject the Wen outright — and provided I don't just accept, ungrateful and troublesome as you —"

"Did you fall and hit your head or something? _You_ should be grateful to _me_, old man!"

"—_and troublesome_ as you are, I can force Wen into a compromise that we can work to our advantage. Play your role well, and you won't have to marry anyone at all. It's like your ears don't connect to your brain."

Yuffie shuts her mouth. She opens it, then closes it again, thinking furiously. But nope. There really isn't a good answer for that one.

Honestly, it's the absolute worst when he's right about something.

"I will spare the name of my revered father, and spare Wutai from becoming a vassal. _You_ will escape marriage." Godo shoots her a narrow-eyed look. "But you must at least seem to give sincere consideration and make an effort to get along when they arrive."

Yuffie grins and reaches up, lacing her fingers together and cupping the back of her head. She lets out a sigh as the tension in her back eases a little. "Well, old man, you're in luck. I've always found sincerity surprisingly easy to fake." 

She'd learned it in a mirror, looking herself in the eye and repeating all the things that weren't true but should have been.

* * *

The letter goes out on unscented rice paper, but written in Staniv's careful, elegant calligraphy. Her father's is probably better even than Staniv's — the old man's hands started shaking last winter — but it is beneath the Lord of Wutai to write his own letters. That's what his secretary and favorite advisor is for.

Ugh, gag her just thinking about it. Someday she'll be in a position so vaunted she won't even be expected to lift her own writing brush. Grossness. Seriously.

Compared to the flowery language of the Wen, the Kisaragi are almost deplorably blunt. Then again, it's not like anybody expects the Imperial House to make subtle proclamations. One of the privileges of power — however little real power they may actually have.

_In the wake of the rising sea and the star that did not fall, we who are dragon-chosen, descendants of the All-Holy, concur that the people of the wave must unite. The kindness of your offer honors the Emperor more than words might express._

_However, this bright new world — a world Shinra no longer gazes upon, a fact which must surely gladden the hearts of all of Wutai — has moved beyond the days when a man arranged his children's marriages for them. And given all that is owed to the Crown Prince for his assistance in destroying the Shinra, it is distasteful to the Emperor to force his only living heir into any marriage._

_Instead, the Lord of Wutai invites the House of Wen into the Imperial Presence, for the purpose of a courtship._

_These are the words of the Emperor. By the personal stamp of Kisaragi Godo and the seal of the Imperial Presence you may know them to be upheld._

And of course at the bottom of the page is her father's stamp, in the special yellow-gold ink that marks him out as a reigning emperor. The dark green, nearly black, wax of the Imperial seal sits next to it. Staniv salts the ink one last time, then gently shakes the paper before he rolls it up into a scroll, which he seals with a tasseled golden cord.

"Are you satisfied?" Staniv raises one eyebrow as he asks the question.

Yuffie takes a few steps back, no longer leaning over his shoulder. "What, it's not like you can blame me for checking. A girl's gotta know, right?"

Staniv rolls his eyes at her. He actually dares. She almost laughs at having drawn it out of him.

"He won't sell you off. Not at the expense of Wutai."

Yuffie jerks her thumb, pointing out the window to their tourist-trap town. "He's never had a lot of pride where our country was concerned before, you know." And it's not like we like each other much, she doesn't say.

"Rice fills a man's bowl far sooner than pride, Your Highness. Is this not written?"

Now it's her turn to roll her eyes. The problem is, Staniv's pragmatism actually makes a certain amount of sense. But she still hates it. Annoyed that she has no better answer than, "Yeah, yeah," she picks up her father's draft of the letter — full of blots and crossed out words, with an entire paragraph lost to black ink — and tosses a wisp of will toward her Fire materia.

The draft goes up in a single long wick of flame, crumbling to ash in her fingers. The Elemental materia in the linked slot beside it means that she feels the heat of it without actually burning herself.

Who does her father really value, the living or the dead? Is that even a question that letter can answer? 

Yuffie closes her fist around the ashes, then flings them into one of the braziers that heats the room.

* * *

haru sugite natsu kinikerashi shirotae no  
koromo hosu chō Ama no Kaguyama  
Spring has passed, and the white robes of summer are being aired on fragrant Mount Kagu—beloved of the gods.  
— attr. Empress Jitou, as collected in _Ogura Hyakunin Isshu_


	3. Talking Heads

Yuffie is not a completely selfish person and would not be doing this to her without a good reason, Tifa finds herself chanting at 05:52 in the morning, just forty minutes after she'd crawled into bed. The ninja just forgets about time zones. A lot. She forgets about them more often than she remembers them, really.

Even as Tifa thinks this, Cloud makes a snorting, unhappy noise that suggests he disagrees. Violently.

Their combined unhappiness doesn't make the buzzing stop. She reaches an arm out and picks up her PHS as carefully as she can. Her fingers are clumsy with tiredness and it takes her more than a few swipes to unlock the screen. Even as she works on that, she has to squint against its bright white glare.

Should have taken Reeve up on that offer to update it so it would have a dark mode, she thinks.

Easily a dozen text messages have arrived. Still scrunching her eyes half-closed, Tifa passes her thumb over the 'message' icon and starts reading.

"Oh," she says, and keeps reading. It's like watching some kind of horrible, messy accident, down to the moments where she's not sure if it's really happening, and especially down to the part where she can't look away.

Cloud apparently knows her almost as well as she knows him, because he sounds much more alert as he asks, "What's happening?"

"I think Yuffie might be getting married," Tifa says.

Then she taps the power button to turn the PHS' screen off, sets it in Cid's home-made induction charger, and lies back down. She's probably dreaming, she tells herself. Way too tired to be making any sense of Yuffie's messages. That can't really be what she said.

She hears more buzzing as she drifts off to sleep. It makes the PHS rattle in the charger, but the little metallic noises are comforting. Almost like the sound of Cloud's sword tapping against his belt as he walked around, or the soft jingle of her own Premium Heart.

It's not comforting, exactly, but it's familiar, and that's enough.

* * *

At least I'm doing this as the Crown Prince, and not as some dumb princess, Yuffie chants to herself. It doesn't help, but she repeats it anyway. A third time, as she adjusts the bun in its cuff on the top of her head, making sure the pin is settled. She finger combs the rest of her hair again, just to be sure, and then adjusts the collar of her kimono. 

Just a hint of coral silk and gold embroidery peeks out. Perfect. She nods to herself.

The Wen won't know what hit them.

About an hour later, she's not sure which of the gathered strangers, in their hodgepodge mix of blue and green clothes, all in different styles of the south, are the actual Wen. Good news is, they all look pretty shocked to see her. Better news is, they brought chocobos.

It's always nice when people play right into her plans. Well, her plans with a little help from Chekhov.

She bites the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling and offers a slight bow.

"Welcome to Da Chao," she says. "I am Yuffie, Crown Prince of Wutai. You are surely the illustrious Wen family, beloved tigers of the south, and…" What's the word, what's that damn fancy word for… "Their valued retainers?"

Ha, illustrious. More like wacko, but she knows enough about politics — national and personal — not to say _that_ out loud.

The people in blue shuffle and bow, muttering in a dialect of wutaian she doesn't speak. The people in green cluster a little closer together, and she starts noticing the shades. Also the hats, which are frankly kind of amazing. She would totally wear hats like those.

At last, a young man with warm brown eyes steps forward. The arch of his brow and cut of his jaw look weirdly familiar, but she doesn't have time to place them before he bows low, becoming a blur of pale green silk and black hair. "Princess Yu, I am Wen Li-tseung, Crown Prince of Lanfa Thanh. It is of course an honor to meet the very last daughter of the great Imperial family, beloved of the Water-God."

Descended from, she almost corrects him. She actually opens her mouth to say it and has to stop herself, biting the tip of her tongue.

Also, that little 'very last daughter' thing? _Nice._ Only not. Same for him fucking up her name on first meeting. Looks like they'll be fighting about this for the whole visit.

Yuffie keeps her expression politely blank and repeats the words Chekhov had coached her on. "There isn't any Princess Yu anymore, I'm afraid. As I said, I'm Yuffie, Crown Prince of Wutai. In the style of your own illustrious ancestor, Wen Quyen-cuc, eleventh King of Lanfa Thanh, of course."

Oh, look at that wide-eyed surprise. She watches Li-tseung's gaze flicker toward an older man resting on a cane veined through with pale yellow jade.

His father, Wen Mao-li, no doubt. The petty, pretend king himself. Yuffie sets her eyes on him, just waiting for him to say something stupid. She's pretty sure it'll be a short wait.

"I would not have expected a daughter of the Imperial family to know our own humble lineage so well," the old man says. "I find it a very pleasant surprise."

Below the nose, his face is perfectly calm and level, but she sees the squint at the corners of his eyes. Saying that had to be about as pleasant as sucking on a lemon.

"You honor me, Your Majesty." She takes the time to offer him another, slightly lower bow, then turns back to Li-tseung. "Welcome to the Imperial City," she says with as much sincerity as she knows how to muster up. "The Lord of Wutai sent a chocobo carriage for your father, but I was hoping to take you on a tour of the town. It'd have to be a walking one, though."

The corner of Li-tseung's mouth twitches up — she recognizes that look, but she can't figure out from where — and he bows deeply again. "It would be a joy and a pleasure. I've never ridden north of the Anvil. But you say we would have to walk?"

Yuffie shrugs. "Imperial family. As the All-Holy walked upon the ground, we don't ride in Her son's city."

"What a quaint tradition," Li-tseung says, and Yuffie grins, clenching her fingers into a fist inside her sleeve. She makes a mental note to punch him in the teeth the first chance she gets.

"Oh, you'll find we're chock full of those up north," she says instead. "Are you coming with?"

"I could hardly miss a chance to see your city through your eyes." There's a reserve to his tone, a polite distance, but his eyes are fixed on her. They're surprisingly warm, like he means it.

So, somebody else who's good at faking sincerity. Water-God, this is a match made in one of the lowest depths of Chaos' hells. No wonder the old man told her to play her part right.

This is going to be the longest summer of her life.

* * *

The bed is cold when she wakes up, but Tifa doesn't mind much. Weak pre-dawn light filters in past the gingham curtains. It's enough for her to see that Cloud has pulled the covers up on his side and tossed her laundry into one of the baskets for her.

The scents of hot pork grease, something warm and sugary, and the sweet-bready smell of cooking carbs wafts up the stairs and in through the crack in the door. Tifa closes her eyes, listening, and hears the soft murmur of Cloud's voice, the deep thrum of Barret's, and the ear-piercingly pitched laugh by one of the kids.

She spares a moment to wonder which of the men is cooking. Although Cloud's no chef, he can generally manage breakfast. Every kid in Nibelheim learned to make flapjacks. It was as time-honored a tradition as roasting chiles or piñons. Of course, given that Barret has a surprising domestic streak, it could be either of them.

Her PHS rattles once more inside the charger, this time to let her know an alarm is going off. Tifa turns and pulls it out, listening for the soft whirr as the rotor on the outside slows down and then stops spinning. She unlocks the screen again and finds that she has only one more missed message from Yuffie.

Time to scroll back up and get this story from the beginning.

She reads the first text, closes her eyes, and then pinches the bridge of her nose. When that does nothing for the headache she can already feel forming, she drops the PHS on the bed and gently massages her temples.

"I'm not dealing with this without coffee," Tifa tells the empty room.

She has to make a dive for her PHS when she tries to make the bed, ending up tucking it inside one of the pockets of her apron. The rich scent of coffee begins to waft up the stairs as she heads down the hall, and she breathes in deep.

In a rare treat, the whole family has gathered in her kitchen. Cloud leans next to the coffee pot in civilian wear, while Barret pulls a pan of something out of the oven with his left hand. He holds his right high in the air, as far away from the oven as he can.

And not only is Denzel sitting at the breakfast bar — his favorite spot — but Marlene sits next to him, on a stool so tall her feet don't even reach the middle rung.

Cloud looks up as she steps into the kitchen. He had to have recognized her footsteps, but she sees the way his eyes settle on her. More importantly, she sees his face soften and his shoulders relax. Not much, but enough that she can notice it, and Barret would too, if he were looking.

His mouth twitches, but he doesn't say anything, just pours her a mug and offers it to her. 

Marlene juts her lower lip out, making her eyes huge. "I want some!"

"Coffee's not good for little girls, honey," Barret tells her. "When you're all grown up, then you can have all the coffee you want."

Denzel's pale gaze drifts to one of the mugs by the coffee maker, and he turns a hopeful expression on Cloud.

"None for you, either," Cloud says, and Denzel slouches, only perking up when Barret dishes bacon onto his plate.

Getting the kids out of the kitchen and into the dining room is a production. Tifa sighs and settles onto one of the stools once they manage it.

"What's happening?" Cloud asks again. At Barret's look, he says, "She got a lot of messages last night, and…" He jerks his head toward her, as if telling Barret to look at her face.

Tifa shakes her head. "I have no idea how we fix this," she admits, and reaches into her pocket. She hands Cloud the PHS first, because he's closer and knows her unlock code.

* * *

"All the good stuff hides," Yuffie tells Li-tseung as they step away from the Great Gates that mark the border between the wilderness and Wutai proper. The sun beats down hot, leaving her sweating. She spares a moment to wish she could be one of those girls who _glow_ rather than get all grody. Her inner nagajuban — the plain white one — is already sticking to her back.

Li-tseung tilts his head, and even the faint, polite puzzlement on his face seems familiar to her. It's weird, like she's known him for at least a couple years, and that makes her even more suspicious.

"It hides?" He peers at the lower city around them like he's looking hard, trying to find all the hidden objects in the image.

"Yep. There's a whole lot of… unrefined entertainment in this part of town. The things that are worth seeing are a little harder to spot."

Maybe if she told him to look in the river —

Ah, well. Instead, she takes him to Grandmother Ran's house. It's a bona fide easily-overlooked treasure, the kind of place people expect to see when they come in from the east, but never do. Turtle's Paradise overshadows it, and the walls around the property blend in with the city walls.

Yuffie, who has lived in this city off and on for her whole life, marches straight up to the gate decorated with golden lion-dog faces and uses the knocker hanging below a snarling mouth. Nothing happens, so she bangs again, and then a fifth time.

A servant hurries down the path toward them before she can knock a seventh.

"Your Highness," the servant says, bowing so low his head almost touches the ground. "Did the honored Lady Ran send for you?"

"Nope," Yuffie says in midgarian standard, just so she can pop the _p_, and then she switches back to wutaian. "Sorry for the, like, intrusion? But the Lord of Wutai's honored guests arrived today, and I had hoped that Prince Wen Li-tseung could see her garden. Does she have time for tea with a couple of princes?"

The servant's expression doesn't change much, but she sees the flicker of amusement at the edge of his mouth and the corners of his eyes. "I am sure the gracious lady would make time, even if she did not, Highness."

The gate swings open easily — she hadn't thought it was locked, but one doesn't venture into Tokugawa territory without an invitation — and they follow the servant in. He leads them down a shaded path to the great house, less full of the ancient treasures than it had once been. Yuffie eyes about a dozen jade figurines, her fingers itching to steal, but she knows better than that.

Would be pretty fun to plant them on Li-tseung, though. She sets the idea aside. That's an insult to add to injury. It can come later.

The servant leads them through a hall that winds and then into the house's central courtyard.

Li-tseung stops moving and actually gasps at the artificial waterfall dripping from a massive block of ice that hangs in midair. Mist off the waterfall waters a garden of dozens of varieties of orchid, and Grandmother Ran herself tends a potted chrysanthemum.

"Yuffie," she says, and waves a hand with thickened, bulbous knuckles. She'd been a nasty fighter well into her middle age, but she's paying for it now. "So good of you to stop by. I always do like to show the first bloom of the season to someone in the Imperial family. Usually your ridiculous father, but you'll do."

There's a wonderful tartness to her tone. Yuffie could kiss the old woman's wizened cheek for that one.

"I'm honored," she says instead. It really is an honor. "What color, this year?"

Grandmother Ran smiles. "Gold. A fine omen, don't you think?"

If she believed in omens, sure. But Yuffie just says, "If Grandmother Ran says it, it must be so." It's less an agreement and more a local proverb. Not only is Grandmother Ran a Tokugawa, she has about half a dozen great-grandsons, all of them fine, strapping warriors. Not a one of them lacks for filial piety.

Before the War, she'd had twelve, and not a one had lacked for patriotism. The survivors have set their course by a less fickle star. Yuffie probably shouldn't blame them as much as she does.

"Cheeky child," Grandmother Ran says. "Come with me and I'll show you the first bloom." She pauses long enough to gather her cane and then rises, slowly and creakily, from her bench. Her voice has taken on its usual wryness as she adds, "I can't say I ever expected you to drag a young man into my garden and expect him to drink tea."

It's weird how much that annoys her. Yuffie feels her eye twitch, but she tries to brush away the annoyance. Can't show it now. Can't afford to show it now.

She'd raise her hands and cradle the back of her head again, but god she's sweaty. So instead Yuffie just offers Ran a cheeky smile. "Oh, we're giving him tea? I was gonna wish him luck drinking out of your waterfall fountain."

"That's salt-water, Yuffie," Ran says.

Li-tseung stops moving and turns to stare back at the waterfall. "That's salt-water?"

"Yeah, can't you smell it?" Yuffie stares at Li-tseung, only belatedly remembering that he's from the desert. She's not sure he's ever even seen a river like the Leviathan, nevermind smelled the ocean.

"I — that… tang? That's—?"

Honestly this is just kind of pitiful. She pities him. "That's the smell of the ocean. Some Tokugawa half a thousand years ago sailed as north as north could go and came back with a piece of the ocean that had frozen solid. Something he'd cut out of a glacier, probably."

"That must have been a very large piece of glacier," Li-tseung says, "that it's only melted this far."

Grandmother Ran, who's always been better at the gentle correction stuff, says, "If the Tokugawa weren't infamous cheats, Prince Yuffie's guest would be correct. But no, it's the same piece it ever was. It replenishes itself and re-freezes every night. Around two or three in the morning, usually." 

Neither Yuffie nor Li-tseung can say much to that. Li-tseung, who seems to be pretty quiet by nature, offers another bow, which Ran returns with a nod. Yuffie has to clench her fists and bite the inside of her cheek to stop from dancing with victory. Every time somebody calls her a prince in front of Li-tseung feels like a tiny win. She hopes he feels it like a knife in the ribs.

Eventually, Ran raises the head of her cane so she can gesture with it, a little crabbily, and says, "Now come on. I don't have all afternoon to entertain the two of you, no matter what rank you hold."

Once again, Yuffie could practically kiss the old woman. But instead she just nods and follows Ran through her ridiculously large garden. Almost all of the plants are beautiful, but Yuffie's careful not to touch any of them.

Tokugawa women are master poisoners. They have to get their materials from _somewhere_, and Wutaian poisons aren't all "venom of the habu-wooper" or "crushed yin-yang liver". Sometimes it's a petal of this, some sap from that, and bile from Leviathan only knows what, just for flavor.

Eventually, though, they reach the chrysanthemum patch, just beside the moon-viewing teahouse. Grandmother Ran gestures for Li-tseung to stay put, but motions Yuffie forward.

The first chrysanthemum of the season is gold, alright. It's a perfect specimen of the flower, a zillion petals all stretching out in something way too bushy to be called a circle from one central point. It smells beautiful, of course, sweet and familiar in a way that makes her long for the autumns when things were better.

But they were never really better, were they?

Ultimately, though, it's a flower. Yuffie admires it for a while, half trying to figure out how to upstage Li-tseung and half considering what she wants for dinner. She eventually steps back and gives Grandmother Ran a real bow, the kind that starts from the waist.

Then, just to really win this, she recites one of the incredibly stupid poems she'd had to learn when she was nine. "Even burning fire can be gathered, smothered, and carried in a bag."

Li-tseung knows this one, apparently, since he finishes with her: "Why, then, can't I meet my lord once again?"

Grandmother Ran bows her head low, eyes fluttering closed. She raises her head, solemn, and says, "It makes you think of better times, does it? I'd call you too young for such nostalgia, but the truth is you couldn't have paid an old woman a finer compliment."

"No more than you have me by allowing me to be the first to see it." It's not the thing she wants to say — the thing she wants to say is, _hey, do you mind murdering this idiot with me? I know you have like four zillion ways to do it_ — but it's the right thing. And at least for now, that's more important.

She really, really does not like this constant push in the back of her head to be perfect. One of the only good things about spending most of her time out in the wild, stealing other people's shit — besides the part where she got to steal — was that there was zero expectation that she be a prince or a princess or even much of anything, besides sneaky.

But this is sneaky, Yuffie tells herself, and steps away from the flowers. "You should have a look," she tells Li-tseung.

And, for the first time since she's met him, one corner of his mouth curves up in a smile. It lasts for about three whole seconds before it's gone again, and Li-tseung is moving toward the chrysanthemum. And, for the first time since she's met him, one corner of his mouth curves up in a smile. It lasts for about three whole seconds before it's gone again, and Li-tseung is moving toward the chrysanthemum. He admires it for a while, then bows to Ran.

"Thank you for letting us see your garden," he says. "Truly, it was beautiful."

Grandmother Ran nods her approval, waving away his thanks with the hand not holding her cane. "But I expect you'll need to be going, if you want to refresh yourselves before the inevitable state dinner. A pity we won't have tea today, but there's plenty of time."

* * *

The messages, read from start to finish, go something like this:

—_State dinner is killing me please send help_

—_The ego on this guy's dad_

—_The nerve of these people, I really oughtta teach them some respect_

—_HIS DAD JUST CALLED ME FIANCE_

—_Okay what's worse poison or paralyze_

—_I don't wanna play the koto_

—_Death to whoever invented the erhu flute_

—_DEATH_

—_Requesting permission to kill_

—_QUAINT HE CALLED US QUAINT AGAIN_

—_ARE YU KIDDING ME THAT STUPID OLD MAN JUST CALLED ME PRINCESS YU_

—_okay yes when i was like five i was yu no miya because I WAS 5 YEARS OLD!!!! I havent been Princess Yu in like 6 or 7 years!_

—_Screw this I'm just gonna drink a bottle of shochu and see where I land_

—_In toilet becas hangover start early shochu motion sickness bad mix please just let this be assasssaasssnation atttttttmmmmmmmm_

* * *

Even flaming fire  
can be snatched up, smothered  
and carried in a bag.  
Why then can't I  
meet my dead lord again?

—Empress Jitou, "Upon The Death Of Emperor Temmu," as collected in _Women Poets Of Japan_


	4. A Journey Of A Thousand Li

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My hand slipped.

The wind screams around them all and the turbine noise speeds up, until it sounds like a dying car engine choking on a buzzing chainsaw, then slows down to an ear-piercing, warbly _thrim_. Something seems to disengage inside the turbine, getting rid of the dying car engine but retaining the buzz, and then that falls away, too, leaving only the soft swoop of fan blades turning swiftly in the air.

Those vanish as the windmill stops turning at all.

"Well," Cid manages to growl, "how 'bout _that_?"

"Got up to seven point two again," Shera calls from the control room — probably more out of habit than directly answering Cid. He hadn't been speaking loudly enough for her to hear.

Cid nods and bends over to pull a cigarette from his pocket, cupping his hand around it as he lights up. He sucks in what looks to Vincent like a particularly deep lungful, then exhales blue smoke and shouts, "What about Roentgasts?"

"Point oh four three," Shera calls down.

And, for the first time in the last week, Cid grins. He looks over at Reeve, who smiles as well. And then both of them look over to Vincent. After assisting with this for so long, even a layperson such as he knows why they're so happy: .043 roentgasts is not a threat to the human body. Instead, it's roughly equivalent to the ambient presence of large-scale use of high-level magic.

Vincent, annoyed for reasons he doesn't care to name just now, nods at them and disengages the Wind materia from his clawed gauntlet. He holds it out for Reeve to take back, but Reeve shakes his head, waving it away with a hand.

"You're better with it than either of us," Reeve says. "And Shera can't use it at all, right?"

"Damned if I know," Cid grunts, and then grunts again at the glare Vincent turns his way. He breathes in deep and bellows, "Shera, you know how to use materia?"

Her response is a distant, "No, Captain."

"The hell is that woman getting to _now_," he grumbles in reply, but jerks his head and heads up the stairs toward the control area. 

Vincent and Reeve follow through the lead-lined blast door. Vincent is the one to shut it, turning the wheel to lock it with little effort. Reeve forges ahead, through a few areas that resemble an airlock. They don't bother with a decontamination shower — there are certainly no signs that Cid or Shera did — and instead leave the research building for the living quarters south of it. The concrete wall between them hosts one last steel door, which Vincent slams shut and locks again.

There had really only been one place Shera would bother to go, after all. 

The soft sound of the gas stove should have been barely audible to Vincent, but his ears pick it up as soon as he steps into the house. Some of that is the fault of the thin walls — the research facility was designed to keep its potentially lethal magic, mako, and electrical experiments contained, but the housing was hardly expected to last — but the rest is his own mako enhancement.

Vinent closes his eyes briefly, trying to ignore both the sound of the gas and the Galian Beast's reaction to the smell of it. The whine of the wind turbines had left Hellmasker restless enough that his skin feels like it doesn't quite fit.

"Y'did it, Shera," Cid says, surprisingly soft, in the kitchen.

"Vincent was the one to —"

"Goddamnit, woman, I know Vince cast the goddamn spells, but _you're_ the brilliant fuckin' engineer who came up with the mana-damping collar on the turbine stalk! Will you fuckin' let me tell you that you did something right?"

"Oh," she replies, and sounds small.

Next to him, Reeve sighs. Vincent starts forward again. He's just opening the kitchen door — ready, if unhappily so, to insert himself into this doomrat's nest again — when the buzz comes through on his PHS. Cid jerks, too, and snarls around the toothpick he'd swapped for his cigarette at some point.

Vincent pulls his PHS from his back pocket and swipes his thumb across the screen. A series of messages labelled _img_ have appeared in a what looks like a new group chat. Vincent taps his thumb over the members option and blinks at how small the list is: Cloud, Barret, Cid, Vincent.

He taps the first image with his thumb and blinks again at a picture of texts from Tifa's phone. Yuffie had evidently been messaging Tifa at some unacceptable hour, and at first Vincent thinks that Cloud is about to ask how to make his point regarding this. But he swipes for the next image and recognizes Cloud's actual reasoning.

That doesn't stop his stomach from turning at the final set of pictures. Assassination attempt? 

It takes Cid a little longer to make it through all of the messages, but when he does, he looks up enough to lock eyes with Vincent.

"Looks like we need to head to Kalm," he says, and though his tone is as even and mild as he ever sounds, there's an edge of disapproval that slides along his words.

Vincent nods. "And then Wutai, chief."

Cid heaves a huge, put-upon sigh. "Yeah," he agrees. "And then Wutai."

* * *

So, the great thing about Crisis? Aside from the fact that she met AVALANCHE, which has been pretty fucking awesome and also frequently hilarious for her? Falling asleep Poisoned and waking up Berserk and being turned into a frog and back again a few dozen times in a row — thanks, Gongaga — has given Yuffie the ability to function pretty much regardless of how she feels. Literally everything else about Crisis had ranged from "boring and/or unpleasant," which stopped seeming so bad the minute things had turned terrifying, to "deeply traumatic, holy crap, Cloud is paying for my years of therapy." But learning how to function when light hurts so bad that you're squinting out of one eye, your skull feels like a ruby dragon used it for lantern-smashing, and you're about 6/12s sure that you're gonna throw up on your shoes?

That's totally a solid to a girl like Yuffie. Thank you, Sephiroth, you have officially done her more favors than the entire Wen family and every single one of them who's ever existed, like, ever.

She cannot _believe_ she just thought that.

It makes her want to horf even more, and she was already plenty close. Still, she levers herself out of bed, rinses her mouth out, and freshens up with the water from the basin by her cedar clothes chest. After a couple of sprays of deodorant, she pulls together something to wear that looks like she put in at least half a minute's thought — solid orange hakama this time, worn over a yellow kimono with boyishly short sleeves — and brushes her hair into order.

She makes it as far as the door before she considers what she'll find at the breakfast table. The thought of looking alert and put together, when everybody else is obviously hung over, amuses her enough that she goes back to her mirror. Tifa's sent her a few pieces of makeup, and while most of them are a mystery to her, Yuffie's figured out the tinted moisturizer, and it doesn't take a genius to put a sort of paler golden olive eyeshadow on her eyelids and an even paler one, much more matchy to the rest of her face, underneath her eyes. The black stick of eyeliner, she leaves alone to wrestle with some other day, far, _far_ in the future. She picks from one of the three different pink lipsticks almost at random, since she's still not super clear on the difference between darkened lip balm and lip stain. She does know enough to avoid the pink lipgloss, since "shiny" means "makeup" and she's trying to look, like, naturally perfect.

Yuffie wipes her hands clean on a damp towel, flicks a spot of moisturizer out of her eyebrow before it dries and makes her look like she has a bald spot, and inspects herself closely.

She doesn't even look pale. Her skin looks smooth, with no tired eyes and no dark circles, and the darkened balm hides the pale bits of chapped skin on her lips. Sweet. Away goes the makeup into the cigar box, back into the chest of drawers next to her underwear and, much more intimate, her materia collection, organized by set up.

It turns out she finds exactly what she'd expected at breakfast: Godo and Wen Mao-Li both have bloodshot eyes and are slightly listless, though Godo, being younger, seems a little more forceful than Mr. Pretend King. Wen Li-tseung looks mostly okay, but he winces at every sound, and he's facing away from the windows.

Every man at the table is staring at the natto like it personally offended him.

Yuffie, grinning, dishes up a rice bowl for herself, topping it with fish, eggs, and a heaping helping of seaweed, which has all the vitamin goodness a hungover person needs and none of the textures or flavors they can stand. She fixes herself some tea as well, pouring hot water over the powder and whisking it briskly.

Into the bleary silence, she says, "Not to be hasty, but I'm sure my honored father has business to attend to. Is there anything you or your son might wish to do here in Da Chao, Lord Wen?" At the Wens' blank looks, she helpfully points out, "Reeve Tuesti — you know, the AVALANCHE member who's commissioning some kind of restoration order — sent him a proposal a couple of days ago, and there's some business with Rocket Town as well."

As bright and chipper as her tone might be, there's a couple of nasty barbs hidden in that little prompt: not only do the Wens think of themselves as royalty, they are only in their wildest dreams important enough to have trade talks with Rocket Town or get proposals about restoration committees. Unlike her father, who is an actual emperor and also actually important. Unlike her: heir to an emperor, member of AVALANCHE, fan-freaking-tastic ninja.

Wen Li-tseung is apparently interested enough in staying on her good side that he swallows it. Or maybe he just feels too much like garbage to pick a fight. Mao-Li, on the other hand, offers her an annoyed glare.

Oh yeah, that's a sore point.

Yuffie keeps her expression neutral and eats her breakfast. The egg is nice and greasy, and between the egg and starchy rice, she manages to fortify herself for natto and fish. Best hangover cure ever, except for Tifa's.

"If it isn't too much trouble, I would like very much to see the ocean," Li-tseung says eventually. He's whisking his own cup of tea now, and for some reason he can't even look at Yuffie as he says that.

God, yet another familiar thing from this guy, the way his eyes narrow as he concentrates, the way he refuses to look up from his task. It reminds her of Cloud, a little, at his most uncomfortable.

She almost feels bad for him. "Sounds great! Is it alright if we go this afternoon? I have a class to teach this morning."

Li-tseung finally looks up. His eyes widen very slightly, like he hadn't considered that she might have things to do besides hang out with him. She studies him back for a second. She'd thought of his eyes as a warm brown, but there's an edge of amber to the color; in the light of the dining room, it makes his eyes a kind of orange-gold. Extremely vivid.

Still so damn familiar. She almost has to bite her cheek to keep from asking if they've met before, even though she knows she's never met a Wen in person in her life.

"A class? Would you allow me to sit in as you taught?"

Yuffie tilts her head, considering. She can't help the way she starts to grin, curling her lip up at one corner. It's probably not a _nice_ look — she has her father's smile, she knows, she's seen herself in the mirror and in pictures — but, well. The kids will love having a new chew toy, and it's not like she's teaching anything secret today.

They're working on Hyperextend And Redirect Ki To Foundation, which is just a fancy name for a flow-and-reverse with a blow to the knee. Any idiot can grab an incoming strike, extend it past what their attacker intended, redirect it back at the attacker, and then kick them in the knee. She's seen Tifa do it. Hell, she's seen _Vincent_ do it, and he's a friggin' sniper.

"Sure," she says. "The kids'll probably love you."

* * *

She was absolutely, totally, five hundred thousand percent right. Her students all trickle in to class in twos and threes, warming up as they step in, and then moving to their places on the wood floor. 

When everybody's present, Yuffie waves a hand at Li-tseung and says, "Hey, brats. I found you a new chewtoy. You're gonna be nice and not break him for at least twenty minutes, okay? He's a prince from down south, and I bet we could learn a lot from him."

Li-tseung's scandalized, offended look is fucking comedy _mythril_. She grins at him, shameless, and he lets out the tiniest of sighs, his eyelids fluttering as if he's trying hard not to roll his eyes at her.

"I am Wen Li-tseung," he says, "prince of Lanfa Thanh and practitioner of the Basalt Viper school of gongfu. It is a pleasure and an honor to observe your class today."

Because her kids are the best kids, they all bow as one and shout, "Welcome to class, Prince Wen!"

And because there is not a single child in Wutai who is not kiiiiiind of a little shit, Inoue is the one to look up first. She uses this special moment to ask, "Is it true you're here to marry Prince Kisaragi?"

"Yeah, okay, you're gonna be my practice dummy," is the only possible thing to say to that. "C'mere, Inoue."

Inoue groans but steps out of the little formation and heads to the front of the room. She stands loose but firmly rooted, knees slightly bent.

"Hit me," Yuffie says.

She should have expected a kick. The kid's got a great hip pivot, as always. Yuffie steps aside, grabs knee and ankle, and pulls. Her student windmills her arms, wiggling around on her supporting foot as she tries to keep balance.

Okay, time to reverse the momentum. Yuffie turns halfway, then uses the combined force of Inoue's kick and her own reaction to it to snap back and shove Inoue backwards. She doesn't even need to kick Inoue in the shin; the girl goes backward and then down all on her own.

She dusts her hands together and then plants them on her hips. She grins at them, sunny. "Well that wasn't a great example, was it? Can anybody tell me what I did wrong?"

Her entire class says, as one, "You put your plan ahead of the situation."

"That's right. That's exactly what I did. It was the same principle as the thing we're gonna work on this time, but I didn't show you what I meant to. Before I show you what I'm supposed to be teaching you today, does anybody wanna tell me what Inoue did wrong?"

They all stare suspiciously at her, like they think it's a trick question. Finally, somebody offers, "She came at you from the front?" But they don't sound very sure about it.

Yuffie looks to Li-tseung, raising her eyebrows.

"She tried a kick head on, against a prepared and experienced opponent," he says. Then he drops into a fluid bow that involves folding his hands into his wide sleeves. "If Her Highness permits, I would be glad to help demonstrate."

Okay, they're on the right track with titles here. She grins at him. "Sure, why not? Inoue, pick yourself up and get back to position. Don't think I don't see you slacking off down there."

Inoue blushes again but rises and runs back to her spot.

Yuffie and Li-tseung step onto the demonstration mats. They bow again, and again Li-tseung folds his hands in his sleeves. It's weird to her, makes her kind of want to check his arms for weapons. Okay, actually, it makes her a lot want to check his arms for hidden daggers or poison or something, but she's going to play nice.

She can figure out what the deal is later.

They step back from each other. And as Li-tseung charges forward with a punch — left fist, wrist angled just so, while his right hand stays open and near his face — she realizes that she _recognizes_ Basalt Viper. She's seen it before. Somebody she knows uses it.

Tifa, maybe? No, Tifa keeps both fists near her face. She almost never shows her palm. Rude, maybe? Or maybe that traitor, Tseng?

Her brain's so busy trying to match style to person that she pulls her flow-and-reverse on autopilot, dodging the blow by a hairsbreadth and grabbing him at wrist and bicep, just above the elbow. She pulls his whole arm downward, extending his punch, and then abruptly slams her elbow upward, at an angle, turning the momentum from one direction to another in a fluid moment.

He's good enough that his only flinch reaction is a blink as he leans his head back so she won't actually hit him…

Providing her the perfect distraction. She kicks his knee out from under him, and even though she's being careful, they all hear the pop and crack.

Li-tseung's expression never changes, though his face goes pale, and sweat starts to dot his forehead.

She wouldn't have made contact with Inoue. But Wen Li-tseung? He volunteered.

Yuffie lets him stay where he is for eleven seconds, counting them, before she moves forward. She crouches, then slowly moves his leg so his knee is in roughly the right place, and then starts casting Cure2.

"That," she tells the class once Li-tseung is on his feet again, "is Hyperextend And Redirect Ki To Foundation. And you're going to be practicing it on me."

She pulls her Restore materia out of its spot in her belt and tosses it to Li-tseung. He catches it, staring at her, but tucks it away — in his sleeve, of course — and bows again. He really loves that gesture, she notices. It'd be mildly annoying if she hadn't been ready to hate him the moment they met, so at this point it's like brain-gratingly obnoxious.

Rather than snap at a guy who thinks he's going to be her husband, she demonstrates the movement sequence for each student who steps onto the mats, running them through it a couple of times, before launching herself at them, fist extended.

Most of them take a few tries to get the basics. Fujita picks it up quickest, which almost makes sense. Her footwork might not be great, but redirection is a strong point of hers. Nakamura picks it up the slowest; he's great at footwork and he's one of nature's slipperiest fish, as the ridiculous Wutaian saying goes. His panic dodges are hilarious enough — between those huge ears and the look on his little _face_! — that she's not even frustrated. Weirdly, it feels almost like play.

Matsuda apparently doesn't skip leg day. Once she finally gets the idea, her kick to Yuffie's knee is powerful enough that they all hear the crunch, even as she goes down to the ground. She puts out one arm, catching herself on a fist. She has to force herself not to look down, instead keeping her eyes on Matsuda and breathing through the pain.

The blow takes them all by surprise. None of the kids have ever seen her hit the floor before. There's a shocked moment of silence, and then Li-tseung pretty much jumps into action. He hurries onto the mat, motioning Matsuda backwards, and kneels beside Yuffie. His hands are warm and steady, no hint of tremor, as he helps her adjust her weight to something that _isn't_ agony.

"This may hurt worse," he says, quiet, and Yuffie cuts him off.

"Do it," she says. "I'm way ready."

He grabs her by the thigh and calf, his palms pressing the leg of her hakama close against her skin, and gently rotates, extending and flexing and popping her kneecap back into the right place. No matter how careful he's being about it, it's total freaking misery, the solid throb of bone damage spiking randomly into a stabbing heat, and she has to focus hard on controlling her reaction. He smooths a hand over her knee, first feeling with his palm and then clamping it with his fingers. Checking for swelling, she realizes.

She grunts. "Okay. Either hand me the restore or —"

He casts Cure. It hits her like a truck, like it always does, and she has to fight not to gasp. A quick Assess, and he's frowning.

"Another strike to this knee before it's fully healed could do real harm, your Highness," he says.

She sighs. "Then it sounds like we're done for the day, kids. What don't we do in this dojo?"

"We don't do sloppy, sensei!" Li-tseung looks vaguely alarmed at the delighted, unified cheer, his eyes flicking from the kids back to her.

"Good job. Get out of my dojo, you sneaky little monsters."

As one, they bow first to her, then to Li-tseung, and then they're racing out the door. Matsuda stays behind, scuffing her bare feet along the wooden floor. When Yuffie looks over to her, she looks down, shamefaced.

"I'm sorry, sensei," she says, quiet but rushed. "I didn't mean to —"

"Matsuda, don't worry about it. Seriously. I've been hurt way worse, doing way dumber stuff." Yuffie thinks for about half a second and then adds, "Besides, I'm _glad_ you can hurt me. What do you think I'm teaching you for?"

Matsuda stares at her for a long moment, then nods, bows again, and leaves without turning her back.

"A very respectful child," is Li-tseung's dry remark.

"Nah, she's just guilty. I haven't kicked the conscience out of her yet, and she's gonna be pretty popular for a while. You know us ninjas; we always get real impressed when somebody breaks the teacher."

"You're the first ninja I've met, actually." Li-tseung looks over at her, relaxing one corner of his mouth in that too familiar almost-smile.

* * *

They ride chocobos out of the city. Li-tseung looks like he's considering riding his own from the Palace to the great gates, but he apparently decides against it, instead following Yuffie as she walks Birdbrain through the city. As soon as they've passed through the gate, they both swing themselves easily into their saddles. Birdbrain warks a couple of times — once softly at Yuffie, a 'hello' kind of noise, and a little louder at Li-tseung's bird — then immediately tries to bite Li-seung's mount. His bird dances back a couple of steps, squawking loudly about the indignity.

Li-tseung looks at Birdbrain reproachfully, but all he says is a mild, "No, bad."

Birdbrain, not being interested in listening to people who aren't Yuffie or other members of AVALANCHE, at a push, ignores him, jabbing her beak at the air close to Li-tseung with that dry, warning hiss that Wutaian greens are known for. Yuffie laughs, but guides her chocobo backwards a few paces, while Li-tseung does the same.

She shrugs. "Sorry, Cloud borrowed her a few times to race while he was training up one of his golds, and Brain's been pissy about other birds getting too close to her ever since. Pretty sure she's tried to eat Vincent's black a few times, and she's gotten him in the back of the head. Serves him for riding a chocobo the same color as his hair, I always say." She grins. "So, you wanted to see the ocean? There's kind of a lot of coast up here. Got a spot in mind?"

The (barely a) Crown Prince of South Wutai shakes his head. "No. How far can we realistically go, without being late enough to worry our revered parents?"

Fathers, he didn't say. Interesting. Also: nice that no chaperones have joined them. It _should_ be a necessity according to the Wen family, since they're so insistent on having Li-tseung court her as a princess. Isn't it neat how they keep denying that Yuffie is the Crown Prince right up until her being a princess would inconvenience them?

They're going to pay for that mistake, she promises herself.

"There's some cool caves a little further north," she says instead of the things she's thinking, which are mostly variations on 'go' and 'fuck yourself.' "Nice pilgrimage distance out of the city, and, like, a _must_ if you worship Ashura. You ready?"

At his nod, she grins again, then kicks her heels against Birdbrain's sides. Birdbrain, being a well-trained ex-racing green, immediately leaps forward. The chocobo's huge feet kick up clouds of dust as she hurtles along. Brain's been cooped up in the stable for a couple of weeks, not even out on monster patrol, so she's got a lot of energy to burn. Yuffie whoops and lets her have her head. Brain's got enough sense to slow down when she's tired, before she gets exhausted.

Yuffie looks back, over her shoulder, and outright laughs at the poleaxed expression on Li-tseung's face.

"Try and keep up, will you?"

But Yuffie digs in with her knees and pulls back gently on the reins, just to give him a chance to catch up.

It takes him a minute or so, but he does eventually manage to ride along beside her. Brain hisses and snaps at his chocobo again, and the two of them dance sideways, separating a third time. Who needs chaperones with Birdbrain around?

Because underneath it all Yuffie is mostly a nice person, she pulls Birdbrain off the path and they take the scenic route, along the beaches and sometimes the cliffs that dot the coast. The wind carries a breeze to them, even on top of the air rushing past them, and the breeze carries the scent of the sea. She takes in a few deep breaths, relaxing at the smell of salt and sand — and seaweed, and dead fish, and seagull crap — that fills her nose. She might not love boat travel, which is practically unheard of in Wutaians, but she does love being _near_ the sea.

After a while, Birdbrain gets enough used to the other chocobo that the two birds play racing games. Every time they pull up beside each other, they start sprinting, necks low with the effort as each tries to pull ahead. Birdbrain always wins, but it's seems pretty clear to Yuffie that Li-tseung's bird is letting her win so she won't bite him again.

Smart boy, she thinks, and wonders if Wen Li-tseung is half as smart as his chocobo. If he is, her life is going to get interesting. Probably in ways she won't like.

The God's Harbor is too big to sneak up on them. She slows as they start approaching that part of the coast. She doesn't watch Li-tseung, but she keeps her ears open, and as the God's Harbor finally stops looking like a weird piece of coast and more like the massive natural harbor in the intricately carved cliff face that it is, he rewards her with a gasp. There must be three twenty-foot reliefs of Ashura, but the show stoppers come into view first: on one side of the cliff opening, a fifty-something-foot relief of Ashura reaches out to join hands with the other side, a natural bridge carved into her arms. The other side features a mess of scales and fins, swirling in ways that dizzy the eyes, but his mouth is recognizable, open in a roar.

"Dragon and Tiger," Li-tseung says, softly.

Yuffie shrugs. "The Tide-Emperor, King of Summons, and the All-Holy, yep." Since they're apparently listing off names of the gods right now.

"This is the God's Harbor," Li-tseung realizes. "You called them 'interesting caves!'"

"Cool. I called them cool, and it's not like I was wrong. The Harbor is, like, a zillion times cooler than basically every other cave I've ever been in." To be fair, she's been in some pretty sucky caves. Lucrecia's waterfall thing was probably the prettiest of them, but it also had _Lucrecia_ in it, and she just ruins everything. Ruined everything; she's dead now, absorbed into unclassified materia and hopefully at peace.

Well. Mostly Yuffie hopes Lucrecia's at peace. She's a little less kind about Sephiroth's mother and Vincent's ex whatever when she wakes up from dreaming about Aerith or Meteor. Those are the nights she's kind of a jerk and hope that being injected with Jenova cells while she was pregnant with Sephiroth means she'll never rejoin the Lifestream, that she'll just hang out forever inside some materia, unable to move or speak or breathe, slowly turning into a chunk of How To Fuck Over Literally Everyone Around You Including A Country You've Never Been To, which is _probably_ a Support materia. Those always dance on the knife's edge of being the best chunk of magic Ancient wisdom since before the Calamity, or being so stupid that Yuffie doesn't even know why they crystallized into a spell (here's lookin' at _you_, Chocobo Lure).

"This is a pilgrimage site! An irreplaceable, indescribably beautiful piece of our history! The great legacy of our people! And you just —"

"Oh it's totally all of that." She shrugs again. "But it's kind of touristy."

Li-tseung looks at her like he's completely scandalized. She wonders, if she keeps going like this, will he pop and stop being her problem?

"C'mon, there's a cave that takes you into Leviathan's mouth, where there's some sort of weird whirlpool thing that causes, like, a sea-geyser. A cold one, too, not like some of the geysers further north that are either boiling hot or, uh, melt your skin off with stinky acid like you'll find further north."

She dismounts from Birdbrain, leading her to the shrine's stable. One of the ever-present priest types takes Yuffie's reins and bows so low his head almost hits the ground. Another takes Li-tseung's reins, bowing only about three quarters as low.

Nice to know whose side they're on. Godo says priests are tricky, too busy thinking about eternity and trying to enlighten themselves into Summon-hood to pay much attention to the real world. Unless their monastery's funding is on the line — they're always awake enough for that. Personally, she's never been much bothered about the priest types. They didn't have much use for her, as Godo's second child and a girl, and it's not like she'd ever _needed_ them to tell her what Leviathan and Ashura wanted.

She'd figured that out pretty much all on her own.

"Be welcome, Son of Leviathan," the priest with his forehead on the ground mutters. The other one says, "Be welcome, Son of Wen."

Oh yeah. Northern priesthood's declared sides. Yuffie doesn't look at Li-tseung, because there's no keeping her smug expression off her face.

"Can we cleanse ourselves in the sea-mirror today?"

"The mirror awaits. Our revered eldest brother expected a visit today." Though only one priest spoke, both make a weird little half bow and sweep their arms out like Yuffie and Li-tseung are supposed to move in that direction. 

She gets the impression she's supposed to be impressed that this wise old sage expected them, but there _is_ no revered eldest brother, just an old lady who rotates one-on/one-off weeks here — and who happens to be named Tokugawa Kiyo, surprisingly cherished daughter-in-law of everybody's favorite little old lady, Grandmother Ran. If Yuffie remembers the schedule right, and "when will the place full of shiny things be inhabited" is a thing she's really good at keeping track of, Kiyo would have arrived around noon today, after a trip from the city.

So-called elder brother's been gossiping, basically. Yuffie doesn't call them on it.

"Thanks!" She tugs her riding boots and then her tabi off, shoving them into her saddlebag. Beside her, Li-tseung does the same.

The sea-mirror isn't glass. They passed it off as glass, which took some crazy quick forged documents, at the end of the war. It's one of the few huge chunks of materia that Shinra let them keep. Then again, it's unclassified, clear as crystal, and so big that practically nobody would believe it was materia anyway. It's more like a little portable pond, the classiest kiddie splash pool ever, than a mirror.

Yuffie steps into it, careful to catch herself on her toes when she slips on the smooth surface. She doesn't bother tugging on the leg-sleeves of her hakama. It's not like saltwater is _great_ for silk, but to try and protect her clothing instead of showing reverence for the gods is the kind of insult she can't afford. Li-tseung moves to step in after her; she cuts him off with a raised and a clicky clacky tongue-in-the-teeth noise.

She bends down to cup some of the saltwater in her palms, trickling it over the crown of her head, then refills them and drinks a mouthful. Grimacing a little at the taste of it — at least no eau de dying starfish this time — she swallows and climbs out, once again remembering not to use her hands as she carefully swings her legs over the mirror's lip and follows the smooth, polished stone steps out. There's a path that looks a lot like the inside of an abalone, iridescent, and she inches her way onto it, rocking toe-to-heel to keep herself from falling over. 

"_Now_ you can go," she tells Li-tseung.

He mimics her exactly, gagging on the seawater.

"That was foul," he says as he clambers his way after her, visibly less steady than she was. Poor boy's never had to do Chekhov's weirdo balance lessons, looks like.

"Price of admission. Also, how we keep the worst of the tourists out. Only usually we just hand 'em a bucket, show 'em like half of what to do, and then spit out the rinsing water. _Really_ cuts down on Kiyo having to explain the whole Ashura-and-Leviathan-together-forever thing to people it would gross out."

"You tell lies about how to gain entrance to one of our holiest shrines?" Li-tseung looks aghast.

More than a little annoyed, Yuffie turns away from him, following the creepily smooth stone path. It's not materia, but she's never been able to identify the stone, and that's been weirding her out for most of her life. She points at the cave entrance with her palm. "Wouldn't you? If we didn't, you'd be over here all, 'you allow _foreigners_ into our holy of holies,' gasp, shock, despair." The cave entrance is a literal hole in the ground, a gaping black mouth with broad stairs leading toward it. It honestly looks like a step well, sort of.

They follow the spiral stairs into the cliff, down where light doesn't reach. After that, it only takes about thirty feet horizontally before the entrance vanishes from sight, and instead they're making their way through a tunnel carved into the golden-brown stone. The tunnel itself is mostly _not_ the golden-brown mix of limestone, sandstone, and worthless sedimentary rock that makes up the cliff; instead it's the weird stuff they saw on the surface. After another thirty feet, the side of the tunnel vanishes, and they can look out onto the ocean.

It's an hour's hike from the shrine's mouth to the reliefs. There about three zillion little dip-and-rises, where the tunnel goes almost imperceptibly downhill before slanting back upwards. Eventually, her ears start to pop as the climb takes them upward, towards Leviathan's mouth. Li-tseung makes a noise like it actually hurt a little. She doesn't blame him; he's probably not used to air pressure changing this quick.

There's a carved stone gate — all relief, just like the stuff on the outside — before they get to the room with the geyser.

Even though she doesn't have the annoying tingle-itch that people are watching her, Yuffie drops to her knees in something a lot like seiza, then bows forward from the waist until her forehead hits the ground. Next to her, Li-tseung goes to the floor, too.

They rise after a couple of minutes and step into the next room.

Yuffie squints at the two geyser holes, both with mandalas carved around outside them, and then looks out the maw toward the horizon. "Oh, it's low tide," she says, and steps toward the spout that's nearer the edge off the cliff face. "This one. Probably. It should be soon."

"Probably?"

"Uh, once every three or four tides, they switch sometimes. Water gets backed up in one spout, I think. You'd have to ask, like, Cid or Reeve why that happens, and they'd probably tell you they do, like, mechanical and civic engineering, not fluid dynamics."

How does Yuffie know this? She'd asked them. They had responded with pretty much exactly that.

They don't have long to wait before seawater streams out of the geyser, louder than the roar of the waves outside, sounding for all the world like a furious Water-God about to bite somebody's head off and fling it into the sky so hard it becomes a star. There's a tall plume of white froth and the smell of stone and bitter salt as the water gushes up. Yuffie catches a glimpse of movement that doesn't look like water and snatches out, fingers closing around something hard and sharp. The geyser only lasts seconds, not even a minute, and the water that sprays all over them is freezing cold, the wave foam sticky and slippery at once.

Only once the water has receded, draining back down the spouts or running down the channels carved into the floor to pour out of the cave, does Yuffie open her fist.

It's a freaking cuttlebone. Last time she was here, it was a flake of All materia that she stuck in the Crown. Totally _awesome_. This is so much less awesome that she kinda wants to actually say the word 'ew.'

Instead, she holds it out to Li-tseung. "A gift from Leviathan," she says.

He looks down at the smooth, iridescent white bone in her hand, then looks back up at her. "What is it?"

Right, he's from a desert. "It's a cuttlebone. Sort of like… sea-ivory, I guess." Except for the part where there's, like, grody slime stuff on it. She's pretty sure this is a fairly recently deceased cuttlefish.

Li-tseung bows his thanks, then reaches over and takes the cuttlebone off her palm with both hands. His expression flickers into something grossed out, but he tucks it into his sleeve pocket anyway. They both pretend not to be surreptitiously wiping their hands on the insides of their sleeves where nobody will have to see.

They don't have to talk about it to turn to the maw and stare at the cliff face opposite them. This is one of Yuffie's favorite parts about the God's Harbor: in literally every other piece of Wutaian art depicting Ashura, she either looks about to fry her enemies up like shrimp with, like, holy laser beams, or she looks serene and untroubled and like she was never a real person. But the face that's staring across the water at them looks like a woman in love. Her mouth and eyes are soft, and the corner of her lip curls up in a smirk Yuffie recognizes from her childhood. It had lingered on her dad's mouth whenever her mom was being particularly funny or ridiculous.

Just barely, out of the corner of her eye when she looks up, she can see the stretch of Ashura's fingertips. Whoever the artists were, they captured tension in her arms. She'll never bridge — hah! — the divide, but she's been captured forever _wanting_ to.

It's sweet, if you're a romantic, which Yuffie isn't. It's super fucking neat, if you're into ancient Wutaian depictions of their gods (which Yuffie also isn't). For Yuffie, it's just cool. A piece of her childhood that, surprise, actually doesn't suck. They're nice memories, even if they hurt a little.

The hike back goes a little easier, since they're descending rather than climbing. Still, her calves are unhappy with her when they finally reach the shrine's mouth and haul themselves out.

"Thank you for bringing me here," Li-tseung says, formal but obviously pleased.

"Yeah, it's no problem." She flaps a hand like it doesn't mean anything to her. "I've been meaning to get out here, anyway. Pretty caves are good for the soul or whatever, am I right?"

Li-tseung doesn't answer, and when she looks over her shoulder at him, she can see that he's lost in thought. Weird, she thinks, but she's sore enough and ready enough to haul ass back to the Palace and it's fucking amazing baths — or an inn and a shower; she is like the opposite of picky about this — that she just can't care what's twisting around in his weird zealot brain.

* * *

The chocobos are restive on the ride back south. Birdbrain keeps pulling up and warking, refusing to go any further, and no amount of gysahl greens will make her stop doing it. Li-tseung's bird isn't much better behaved. They've ridden for a couple of hours when they find out what's upsetting their mounts.

She hears it before she sees anything, but she doesn't hear it for long. First there's a deep, rumbling thub-thub-thub followed by weirdly high-pitched whines. As it draws nearer, the whoosh-fwoomnph of the engine comes through clear. Yuffie shades her eyes against the sun and looks up to the sky.

There she is, the _Shera_, coming in low from the west, and she's making for Wutai.

Yuffie's brain flashes in snapshots to the texts she'd sent Tifa last night. Oh, fuck, she thinks, and makes the mistake of saying, "Oh, fuck," out loud.

"Is that the airship?" Li-tseung watches it go, both awed and confused.

"Yeah. Uh. Looks like AVALANCHE is coming to town."

* * *

weather beaten  
wind pierces my body  
to my heart

— Bashō, "Untitled," as collected in _Basho: The Complete Haiku_


End file.
